Affliction
by patronuses
Summary: He knows that it's wrong. He knows that she was never his to begin with, but a part of him, a small, drunken part of him, thinks that she has been all along, and it isn't right at all. Tony/Ziva. One-shot.


_There really isn't any reason to leave his house. He's drunk and self-destructive, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care at all. He can't stand sitting in his achingly lonely apartment anymore. There are things that he needs to make right, things that he need to say before the night is over, and there's only one place that he can go, and not for one second does he consider going somewhere else. He has to see her one last time. The idea of her comfort seeps into his brain, and it fills him. The idea of her is like perpetual motion, and now that the idea has been lit, it spreads through him like wildfire._

...

He sits with his eyes squeezed shut because there are things in his head that hurt too much. His chest is sickeningly tight with the feeling of claws shredding away at his insides, and quite suddenly, the sandwich on his lap isn't even the least bit appetizing. Even though he doesn't want to, he lets his eyes flicker open because maybe reality will make the ache go away. The skylights overhead blind him, and he blinks to make his surroundings focus. He glances around out of habit, even with the objects around him still fuzzy, and for a tiny moment there isn't anything of interest, but he jumps to his feet even though his vision is still blurry. He can already tell from the familiar curve and demeanor that it's her.

...

_He nearly hits a car and a fire hydrant on the way to her place. He barely registers his zig-zagging patterns and the late-night drivers blaring their horns at him. He doesn't care, he doesn't care. There's nothing else on his mind except her. He knows that it's wrong. He knows that she was never his to begin with, but a part of him, a small, drunken part of him, thinks that she has been all along, and it isn't right at all._

...

His sandwich on is on the floor in a dripping, unsalvageable heap. He doesn't even notice. His eyes are trained on the woman who is approaching him with a caution that he can't blame her for. The tightness in his chest is now suffocating, and he isn't breathing. The breath is caught somewhere in the center of his throat, but it won't release itself. Instead, it hangs, suspended in his body and effectively cutting off his ability to function. He wants to go to her and touch her, embrace her, but his feet are rooted to the spot. He isn't sure if his heart is pounding or if it stopped completely, but the spinning feeling in his head tells him that it's one of the two.

...

_He stumbles from the elevator and down the hall to her door. He leans heavily on the doorframe with his throbbing forehead against the cool panel. The sober part of him knows that this isn't a good idea, but all of him knows that this has to be done. He can't be stopped. This can't be stopped. His stomach is gurgling with drunken nerves and too much alcohol. He ignores it because his heart is running a marathon, and it's much more distracting than the sickness in his gut. A shaky fist raises up to rap on her door, and for a moment, he almost doesn't - he almost turns and leaves - but he pushes forward and a knuckle makes contact._

...

She's three steps away from his desk when his feet suddenly unglue themselves. He catches her mid-step, and without any thought at all, he wraps his arms around her slender frame because it's instinct. He holds her close, and he doesn't care that the entire office is probably watching their intimate embrace. All he can feel is her, and she's warm and feminine and soft. The smell of her shampoo fills his nostrils, and he buries his face into her neck, and god, she's here. She's here in the flesh, and she feels the same as she always has. The months and months worth of tension disappear into thin air, and for awhile, he feels like he can finally breathe again.

...

_She peaks out the door, pulling it open just enough that a single eye can examine him. Blinking sleepily, she opens the door wider, and a part of him sobers at the sight of her with her guards down. Her hair is mussed and so is her shirt, and he doesn't really notice the patch of skin at her hip that's revealed. Instead, he stares at her face and tries to memorize the way it looks with the soft light framing it. She rubs her eyes wearily and waits for him to say something. His voice isn't cooperating, and for a moment, he almost feels bad for waking her up, but when she grabs his sleeve impatiently with two fingers and pushes him in the direction of her kitchen, he dismisses the thought. He goes willingly, and after she shuts the door, she's right behind him._

_And all the while, neither say a word._

...

The tension is replaced by other emotions. To his surprise, she returns the embrace just as tightly, and her hand is rubbing the small of his back. The small action is enough to evoke butterflies in his stomach, and he registers that he's hugging her in the middle of the fucking office. The office part doesn't bother him all that much. It's the hugging that makes him uneasy. He isn't sure if she's happy to see him or if she's just humoring him, but he can't speculate about it right now. He's too captivated by her. He brushes his nose against the deliciously silky skin of her neck before he finally pulls away to fully look at her face for the first time in months.

...

"_You are drunk," she accuses him softly. He vaguely realizes that he probably reeks of alcohol, but he doesn't linger on it because it isn't the least bit important. What matters is that she's in front of him. Her back is to him while she hovers over two mugs. A part of him thinks to tell her that he doesn't feel like drinking anything, but he decides against it. She's right, of course, so she automatically earns rights to whatever she sees fit._

_He shrugs in response even though she won't see it._

...

"Tony," she says with familiar dark eyes.

Her face and the expression on it makes his throat dry, and he stands there like a buffoon for a long moment while he tries to find his voice.

"Ziva," he chokes in response. His words are a stammering mess, and he can't bring himself to feel embarassed about it. "What are you doing here? Are you - Are you back?"

His voice breaks at the last part, and he knows the tone is pleading and urgent. He gives her a strained grin and leans in a little closer to her face because it's the only way he knows how to cover up his poorly-masked vulnerability. He's more of a mess than he originally thought.

...

_She sits across from him at her kitchen table. The table is small, and in his drunken state, he realizes how intimate it really is. The light overhead isn't the normal florescent blare, but it's a softer glow that makes the entire room feel cozy. But the coziness is uneasy and suffocating, and he tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt in hopes of breathing easier. It doesn't help._

_She leans the side of face on her palm sleepily and watches him with droopy eyes. He obediently sips the tea but does so gingerly because he hates tea, and she knows that. A part of him thinks that it's her way of punishing him for waking her up at two in the morning. He can't stop staring at her._

"_What are you doing here, Tony?" she asks him finally, and the way her voice sounds, all rough and hoarse from sleep, makes his chest tighten._

_..._

She sees right past him like he knew she would, and her eyebrows pull together in a frown. Dark eyes bore into his with a desperate edge to them, and he already knows the answer. She's not back. It's only temporary. She's going to get back on a plane and leave again. Leave him again. He closes his eyes and takes a quarter of a step back because it feels like he just got punched in the gut. He isn't breathing again.

All the tension fills him up to the brim, and this time, it's threatening to crumble him. He tries to hide his agony, but he knows that she can see through this facade also. A part of him hopes she's hurting too because it would be so much worse if he was the only one who suffered. He squeezes his eyes tighter and wills the sick agony to go away.

It doesn't.

...

"_I can't sit at home alone. I can't sit at home drinking alone," he answers. He's surprised by the way his voice sounds. It's more tender than usual, softer and hoarse. He doesn't realize until much later that it sounds broken._

"_So you decided that you should wake me up?" she sighs, shaking her head. She drinks her tea and cradles the warm mug in her hands. While staring down at the liquid, she murmurs, "My flight is tomorrow, Tony. You know that."_

_He jerks a single nod with his eyes trained on the wooden table in front of him. He knows that, but he wishes he didn't._

...

When he opens his eyes again, he immediately regrets wishing that on her. Her eyes look a little glazed over, and it almost looks like she's fighting to keep her emotions in check. A chunk of him breaks off at the sight of her looking so lost, and he wants to do something, anything, to make the expression go away. He's overwhelmed by the urge to take her hand, but he doesn't. He can't. It'll only hurt more in the long run.

Instead, he grins in a way that looks more like a wince and asks the painful question, "How long are you here for, sweetcheeks?"

...

_He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. His head is starting to spin from the alcohol, and he doesn't think the emotions swirling in his chest are helping very much. It's been two days since she was ordered back to Israel, and he still hasn't fully accepted it. He doesn't think he will until it's already too late. He thinks that he can't let himself accept it because he's trying to prolong the inevitable agony that's sure to follow her departure._

_And god, he misses her already._

...

The endearment from long-ago makes her thin composure visibly wobble and start to crack. She winces before smoothing her face over into a professional mask and murmuring with her eyes downcast to her shoes, "I am here for a week, perhaps. There are a few things that my father has sent me here to take care of with Vance. He sent me in his place, you see."

"Oh," he breathes because it's all he can manage to do.

His breaths are short and shuddering because he's staring at a face that he has imagined in his fucked up head for months. It's a face that's both familiar and foreign. It's a face that he has wanted to see for a long time. It's a face that's going to walk out of his life again.

He misses her more now that she's here than when she wasn't.

...

"_I'm sorry for waking you up, Ziva," he breathes with his head in his hands. He rubs his eyes with his palms and can't bring himself to look at her. Before he knows it, there are words pouring out of his mouth, and he isn't even sure if it has anything to do with the alcohol anymore. "I just - I had to see you one last time. We don't know when we're going to see each other again. I'm sorry I didn't go to dinner with all of you tonight. I couldn't do it. I can't even - God, Ziva - I don't know how I'm going to do this."_

...

"Where are you staying?" he asks quietly. The words that matter won't form in his throat, so he settles for something else. It's safe territory that still stings like a fresh wound. He can only imagine how the words that matter around going to feel. He knows that they're still being watched, but he still doesn't care about the audience. He nudges the bottom of her chin up with his finger so that she's looking at him.

"A hotel," she answers slowly. She doesn't brush his hand away or shy away from his touch, and he takes this as a good sign. He remembers what she told him all those months ago. The words are seared into his brain, and they're blaring at him. Judging by the look on her face, she remembers the whispered words too.

...

"_I have no choice," she says slowly. He can feel her eyes drilling holes in his skin, but he still can't look at her. He's afraid of what he'll find in her expression. He isn't sure of what he's more afraid of - rejection or agreement. He suddenly thinks that this is a bad idea. It isn't going to change anything. She's going to leave, and he'll still be here alone._

_He doesn't even know if she feels the same way._

...

"I know you just got off a plane, and I know that you have a meeting with Vance, but Ziva, do you think we could go get dinner?" His request is said lightly, and for the first time, his voice sounds like a variant of his normal one. It isn't as pleading, but it's still soft and quiet because he's scared that she'll say no and jerk away from him.

He drops his hand from her chin, brushing his fingers against her collarbone before letting it fall completely.

He wonders how broken he looks.

...

"_I know," he tells her painfully. His voice doesn't sound like his. "I know."_

"_I do not know how I am going to do this either," she admits, and her confession makes him snap his head up to look at her. She meets his gaze, and it's burning with intensity that he meets, much to his own surprise. He presses his lips together so hard that it hurts, and he's waiting for her to continue speaking because she always was the more courageous one._

...

"I do not know what time I will be done, Tony," she says, and he reads between the lines. She's asking him if he's sure. They both know that it's going to hurt more in the end, but god, this is like a drug, and he has to get his fix. He hasn't been more sure of anything in his entire life. Time and agony has made him stronger, and he needs to tell her the things that he was too cowardly to say before because the pain of holding it in has been threatening to break him.

And hell, this isn't even a fix. It won't make him feel the least bit better. In fact, it just may make him feel worse. He doesn't care.

"I'll wait," he reassures her finally.

...

"_Why are you here, Tony?" she asks him without looking away. She's fully alert now, and without him realizing it, her guards carefully replaced themselves around her._

_He should have known that she wouldn't be the one to admit anything. His throat is dry, and he opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He ducks his head and drinks the awful tea, and it opens up his throat just enough for him to whisper. The whisper isn't what he really wants to say, but the real words are caught somewhere deep in the center of his chest, locked away with a key that he doesn't have._

"_I'm going to miss you, Ziva."_

_..._

"Very well," she says to him with a stiff nod. She takes a single step away from him, and the bubble of intimacy pops immediately. His ears perk up at the sound of quiet murmurs floating around them, and judging by the way she tilts her head and frowns, she's hearing the sounds for the first time as well.

He stares at her with his mouth ajar, and he wants desperately to say something that actually matters, but all the words are lost on him. His eyes flicker closed, and he exhales shakily and he's aware of his head throbbing from lack of oxygen.

She stares right back at him, and there's a carefully and measured expression on her face as she examines him. He can see right through it, and in her eyes there's a rawness that makes his chest constrict even tighter. Even deeper in her eyes, he can see that she's broken too. Maybe just as broken as he is.

"I will see you later, Tony," she says softly.

She brushes past him in a way that makes him close his eyes and grit his teeth.

...

_She's watching him from over her mug, and he clenches his with tight fists. For the life of him, he can't remember why he's here in her apartment at two in the morning, drunk and emotional and irrational. This isn't going to help either of them, and he's going to be the one who gets the worst of it. He's the one who is left behind with all the reminders haunting him._

_He won't be able to get rid of the ghosts, and he can already feel them starting to gather all around him._

_He's about to get up and leave when her voice rings out in the deafeningly silent kitchen._

"_I will miss you as well, Tony."_

_Her words sting him because he knows that they're going to haunt him as well._

_He can't bring himself to care._


End file.
